Clockwork Beckons
by Dr. Re-Animator
Summary: A delightfully tragic look into Herbert's origins.
1. Chapter 1

**Clockwork Beckons - C.001**  
><em>Such a sad state of affairs<em>..

* * *

><p>He was a sullen child. He often heard his father speak of him in such a way. Sullen and depressing. He rarely smiled and laughed even less. He never looked a stranger in the eye, nor shook a gentleman's hand.<p>

If that meant he was a sullen child, then Herbert supposed he must be. Though, he found his father to be a boorish old fool, so he thought it a balanced lifestyle.

Robert West was admired and well-respected by his peers. He had aged gracefully, his dark hair just barely beginning to see specks of gray and his clean-shaven face still never knowing a line or wrinkle. He had the distinct honor of serving as judge to their city, and was known, even loved, for his lack of leniency when it came to punishing ne'er-do-wells.

In parenting he was much the same, teaching his young son early on to obey or be punished. Although he never struck Herbert, his punishments often outweighed whatever crime his child had committed, leading Herbert to adopt an almost mechanical existence, doing only so much as he was asked to appease the provider. The natural outcome was a son whom many would later recall as "remarkably well-bred."

Herbert despised it all, and none moreso than his own father.

His mother, however, was his everything. She had his love as no one else did. Unlike the father who dogged his every step and haunted his nightmares, his mother was the sun and the earth, the very air he breathed.

Olivia West was once an actress, though her career ended quickly once she settled down and bore a child. As much a victim to her overbearing husband, she quietly resigned herself to domestic servitude and motherhood. Still, despite it all, she remained ever vibrant, her pale blonde hair and girlish laughter a stark contrast to her husband.

As a child, Herbert would sneak into his parent's bedroom while his father sat in his study, drinking scotch and yapping on the telephone. He lay next to his mother and breathed her lilac perfume as she read him books from all the great authors. Occasionally, she would sing softly, while Herbert hummed along. It was these nights that made him truly happy, and not much else.

"Isn't there anything you can do?"

"I'm sorry."

"What kind of doctor are you!"

Herbert, a mere 16 years old, stood in the hallway and listened to his father argue with the specialist. His mother was ill, and the man his father called to examine her hadn't any idea why.

Only one thing was certain, he had said. If she kept along the same path, she would be dead in a month.

The door to his parent's bedroom swung open and the portly doctor hurried out. Close on his heels was Robert West, his face red with fury.

"Get out! Get out and don't come back!"

His father continued to yell as the two descended the stairs and headed toward the front door. Herbert seized the opportunity to slip into the room. He closed the door gently, unsure if his mother was sleeping or not, and trying hard not to rouse her if she was.

"He has such a temper, doesn't he?"

Olivia tried to giggle at her own joke while she sat up to greet her son, but her cracked throat made the gesture awkward. As Herbert tip-toed toward the bed, he tried to smile, but managed only the shadow of a smirk.

"He always has," he said.

Olivia nodded sagely. "It is what it is. How've you been, angel? I feel as though I don't see you anymore."

Herbert sighed as he sat delicately on the edge of the bed. Looking down at his mother laying like a broken doll, her hair with no luster, her eyes losing their light, he felt as if he could break her simply by staring too hard.

"Father doesn't want me bothering you," he said after a pause. "He says you need to rest."

Olivia waved nonchalantly.

"I'll rest when I'm dead. Until then, I want to see my boy. You're the only baby I've got."

Herbert turned away, his face a light shade of pink. Olivia chuckled.

"No matter how old you get, you'll still be my baby boy," she said.

Herbert shook his head. "It isn't that.."

"Then what, love?"

There was a pregnant pause. Herbert was silent while Olivia stared at the back of his head. Finally, she sighed.

"People don't live forever, angel," she started quietly. "We are all born, and therefore we all must die. I know you're hurting. So is your father. You'll be there for each other when I'm gone."

"He hates me."

Olivia felt her eyes sting and brushed at them with the back of one hand.

"Now you stop that, Herbert," she scolded. "I know you two haven't always seen eye to eye, but he's your father and he loves you."

"You're the only friend I have," he said.

Olivia let her tears fall freely as she leaned forward and put her arms around her son's shoulders.

"I said stop that. Mind me now. You're a smart boy. You'll do just fine. Go to a good school, get a good job, and someday you're going to meet a girl and have your own family. This isn't the end for you."

Herbert put his hand over his mother's, shuddering at the chill he felt in them. He opened his mouth to respond when the door fell open.

"Herbert," Robert said. "Go to your room. I need to speak to your mother."

Herbert turned and looked to Olivia, who smiled wanly as she wiped the tears from her face.

"Go on, angel. I'll see you soon. I promise."

She was gone within a week.

They buried her three days later, on a warm, sunny day. It was the kind of day Olivia had lived for. A day for tending her flowers and gossiping with neighbors. As the service came to an end and the visitors began to depart, Herbert threw a single rose into his mother's grave.

Robert stood beside him, his face set as though carved from stone.

"She put it all in a trust fund for you," he said without emotion. "All that money she saved from that acting stuff she did. Every penny so you can go to college."

Herbert said nothing.

Robert continued. "It's just as well. Law school is expensive, and I'll be damned if I pay for it myself. A real man works for his keep. Luckily you had your mother to fall back on."

"I'm not going to law school," Herbert said without looking up.

"Excuse me?" Robert replied, arching one brow. "Isn't that what we decided?"

"It's what YOU decided. It's not what I want," Herbert said, lifting his eyes to meet his father's. "I don't want to be like you."

Robert's face began to darken. "Is that so? Well then, what do you plan to do then?"

Herbert thought for only a moment.

"I'm going to medical school."

There was a brief silence before Robert laughed unkindly.

"A doctor?" he spat. "You? You don't know anything about medicine."

"I will learn," Herbert replied calmly. "I've been reading material by a man named Dr. Hans Gruber. It's fascinating. He believes death is a disease. Someday, I will help him find the cure."

"You're throwing away your life," Robert said.

"We'll see, father," Herbert stated as he turned from his mother's grave. "We'll see."


	2. Chapter 2

**Clockwork Beckons - C.002**  
><em>In a world of red, there was a streak of white<em>..

* * *

><p>The remainder of his high school days passed by in a haze. Without the burden of "friends," Herbert became a exemplary student, quickly rising to the top of his class. He was especially fond of biology classes, although his teacher noticed a peculiar, and, he noted later, somewhat morbid, fascination with organ dissection. At the time, however, it was passed off as mere adolescent curiosity.<p>

On the day of his graduation, Herbert crossed the stage and received his diploma amid a smattering of polite applause from faculty and disinterested audience members. His father, as he had expected, had not bothered to show.

He left the ceremony immediately following, having gotten what he needed and desiring nothing else.

/./././././././././././

"My idiot son."

"I'll miss you as well, father."

Herbert packed the last of his belongings into the back of his car, a rusted out bucket of bolts if ever there was one, but his own nonetheless. He turned to face his father, his face void of detectable emotion.

"I don't expect to come home for the holidays," Herbert casually stated. "I assume you're alright with that."

Robert snorted. "I'll be alright if you don't come home at all. You're throwing your life away."

"You've said that before," Herbert replied.

"And I stand by it," Robert said with a deep frown. "What would your mother think if she had lived to see this.. this travesty?"

Herbert's eyes narrowed. He hated when his father used his mother against him.

"She would be proud that I'm doing what I feel is best for myself."

"You know what happens to kids like you, Herbert? The kids who read these books and decide they're going to change the world and save lives? They end up working in a hospital where they inevitably end up killing their patients when they realize they don't know what they're doing," Robert nearly growled.

Herbert couldn't help but smile, but there was no humor in the gesture.

"As compared to what, father? To being like you?" he began. "To sitting on a pedestal day in and day out. Condemning a man to die because he stole money to feed his family. If the life you describe is how I turn out, I still prefer it to becoming a pompous executioner for the state."

Robert started forward, his eyes glazed with rage.

"You selfish little.."

"Furthermore, father," Herbert continued, unfazed by his father's growing anger, "I'll have you know that I have been accepted to a very prestigious school which employs only the finest students. Within a few years, I will have earned my degree and finally be good enough to learn under Dr. Gruber himself."

There was silence as Robert stared his son down. Herbert remained stone-faced and steady in his convictions.

"So be it," Robert muttered as he turned away with a grunt. "From this point on, I have no son. I'll not be associated to a failure such as yourself."

Herbert said nothing, and stood quietly as his father walked up the driveway and into the house. Only when the door slammed shut behind him did Herbert breathe a sigh of relief and slide quickly into the seat of his car.

"That makes the both of us then," he spat as he turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the only home he'd ever known.

/./././././././././././

Days passed slowly into weeks. The weeks marched unmercifully into months. After what seemed like an eternity, Herbert celebrated his first complete year of college.

Classes were strenuous and left little time for anything else. He spent the majority of his time outside of the classroom either studying at the library or doing homework in his tiny dormroom blessedly devoid of roommates. Despite all else, Herbert excelled and found he actually enjoyed the work.

Medicine was like a puzzle. The symptoms were the pieces. The diagnosis was the final product. Herbert had always liked puzzles as a child, and now, as an adult, he found he still had the knack for solving them.

The only thing Herbert found tedious were his fellow students. So few had heard of Hans Gruber, and those who had were not inclined toward his theories on overcoming death. Even as Herbert built upon the hypothesis and process of studying all possibilities thereof, his peers were quick to dismiss it as a foolish whim, a hopeless ideal.

Herbert refused to be pushed aside so easily. He wouldn't give in. He would show them somehow, some way.

As the new school year blossomed, Herbert rushed across the sprawling courtyard toward his first class of the day. It was a class he had taken on the remote chance of finding others who would share in his ideas.

Philosophy.

He was so caught up in his own mind and planning his beginning thesis that he scarcely noticed the blur of multicolor coming like a bullet from the right side.

"Look out!"

Herbert staggered back with not a moment to spare as a girl on skates dashed by. She did a quick turn around and shouted "Sorry!" before hurrying away just as fast.

Herbert rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath.

Welcome back to school, can I get a 'Hallelujah.'

/./././././././././././

The classroom was smaller than most and smelled thickly of incense. The professor was a short little stub of a woman, her hair a massive beehive of gray and streaks of poorly dyed blonde. She squinted heavily as the students found their seats, despite wearing the largest pair of glasses Herbert had ever seen.

"Welcome, eager minds!" she bellowed as the last student took their seat. "My name is Rebecca Fritz. I will be your guide on the path to enlightenment."

She was showy for a teacher, Herbert noticed, gesticulating wildly with her arms as she spoke and unable to stand still for more than a minute at a time. While she described the goals of the class, Herbert took a moment to size up the other students.

They were a group he had mostly expected. The tortured art students seeking insight to life, the jocks hoping for an easy A, and the geeks looking to show off their particularly well endowed knowledge.

Only one woman stood out of the crowd. A testament to thrift store shopping, Herbert thought, but immediately chastised himself. That was how his father saw the world. He wouldn't follow in those footsteps.

Still, the outfit was unconventional at best in the way it almost seemed to match, but not really. The skirt was knee-length and a purple so bright he found he couldn't stare too long or it began to hurt. Her shirt, likewise, was a neon shade of green sporting orange polka dots. Though she was now wearing a plain pair of black mary janes, Herbert couldn't help noticing the tattered skates beside her chair.

He was still trying to figure out if it was the same person who had nearly run him over when the professor's voice cut into his thoughts.

"Mr. West? Oh, dear, do we have a no show? There's a handful every semester. Nobody takes us philosophers seriously anymore, class. They call us hippies and-"

"I'm here," Herbert interrupted.

Mrs. Fritz stopped mid sentence, adjusting her glasses while she squinted up toward Herbert.

"Oh," she said. "Well, then, I'll make a note to speak up when addressing you, as I've called your name twice with no answer, young man."

Herbert replied, "I'm sorry, ma'am. I was arranging my thoughts."

Mrs. Fritz smiled kindly and nodded.

"Oh, yes! Ohhh, yes! Do tell, Mr. West. We've already heard Abby's theory of shifting realities," she motioned to a girl dressed all in black who looked at the floor with an unusual expression of boredom and embarrassment, "And Mr. Turner's idea that an A in my class will keeping him floating on a scholarship."

Across the room, a man in a varsity jacket grinned stupidly.

She continued, "So, Mr. West. What do you think? How do you feel? We judge nothing, for everything is true in some way."

Herbert cleared his throat and sat up straighter in his chair.

"I believe life is a chemical process. The concept of a soul is merely a tactic invented in the dark ages to keep people fearing an afterlife that doesn't exist. God, a construct of our mortal desire to be secretly judged for everything we do, good or bad. Mankind as a whole demands attention, even if it comes from an invisible source."

The class was silent. Mrs. Fritz tilted her head just slightly.

"Also," Herbert continued, somewhat less confidently, "I believe death is a disease. Someday, I hope to cure it."

Mrs. Fritz nodded slowly.

"I see. Well, that will certainly be something worth seeing. I wish you the best of luck, Mr. West."

The rest of the class passed by in a haze. Herbert drifted in and out, mostly uninterested in the theories of the others and Mrs. Fritz's warm, yet sometimes condescending, responses. He didn't even notice the intent stare of the girl with the skates.

When the bell finally rang, Herbert followed the others to the door. He had taken only two steps into the hall when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"West, right? Herbert?"

He turned around and came face to face with the girl in the technicolor dreamclothes, her skates slung over her shoulder. She extended a hand with an awkward smile. Herbert glanced at it, but didn't shake. She retracted with a light shrug.

"Hi.. I'm, uh.. My name is Shilo. I may have almost hit you on my way to class. Sorry.. about that. I have trouble getting to my classes on time, so I thought the skates would help, but I haven't mastered the, you know.. stopping.. part.."

She shook her head, chuckling nervously. Herbert shifted uneasily.

"Sorry," she muttered. "I kinda ramble on sometimes. Uhm.. do you.. do you really believe all that stuff you said? That you can cure death?"

Herbert hesitated. He was no stranger to ridicule, and his first instinct was to simply walk away. On this occasion, however, he thought the better of it.

"I do," he said finally. "If there were a way to jump start the chemical processes in the brain and nervous system, I can't see why it wouldn't be possible."

Shilo beamed.

"That's great! I mean, I really hope you figure it out."

Herbert raised a brow. "You're interested in medicine as well?"

"Yes. Well, not really. More like.. I'm not very interested in learning it. I'm kind of squeamish, you see. And I'm pretty awful with math and science. But I'm interested in the rest."

Herbert stared at her, caught between being somewhat amused and somewhat dismayed that he was likely going to be late for his next class.

"Is that so?" he said as he turned away to leave. "Why is that? Was your mother a nurse?"

"Not exactly," she said softly.

"The truth is, I'm dying."


End file.
